


The Heart Get No Sleep

by Laintadhg



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exotic Dancer Lavellan, F/M, Solas the Club Kid, Solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laintadhg/pseuds/Laintadhg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding himself under duress from the tedious everyday tasks he was forced to endure at the Cultural Center, he fled to these dark and crowded places to re-invigorate himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Get No Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> One of the many tracks in my Solavellan Playlist includes a very clubby, very weeby, very teenage wasteland song, "The Heart Get No Sleep" by Tokio Hotel. Seeing as it's playing in the background of this ficlet, you may as well give it a listen. Also, try not to let bits of your soul get crushed when you realize how fitting the lyrics are for these two dingleberries:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dl9vF8MKGZY

To anyone who knew him casually, Solas was not a man one would think to find in the pulsating crowd of a club. To those who knew him intimately – though there was hardly anyone in that category these days – it would not be the least bit strange. In fact, they would say it was perfectly logical that he found comfort in the sensory overload and loss of control one could find on the dance floor. Bass beating down on him from all angles, the humidity in the air pressing in close, and undulating bodies bumping and brushing against him in a rhythmic frenzy all gave him license to let go of himself, if only for a short time. 

Finding himself under duress from the tedious everyday tasks he was forced to endure at the Cultural Center, he fled to these dark and crowded places to re-invigorate himself. After all, one could only argue about the exact color of paint used in the original Nevarran death portrait of Divine Justinia for so long before the mind became too cluttered. 

And it was such a clutter in his brain that brought Solas out to a new venue that evening, winding himself into the crowd and submitting to the thrum of the music. A shift in the beats signaled a new song, cheers and shouts for its popularity almost drowned out by the music itself. Despite being a frequent guest of these kinds of establishments, Solas was not particularly up to speed with the latest music trends and had no care for the artist behind the music. But the beat was good and the lyrics clever, so he continued moving in time with the rhythm. A moment later, a louder, more obvious cheer came from the crowd and Solas followed their gaze to the platforms suspended from the ceiling above the DJ’s stage. 

Smoothly and skillfully, the dancers were changing out, the previous set stepping off the platforms while their replacements slid down the central poles into place. The man to the left of the stage, well-muscled and strong featured with an expertly groomed moustache, was appealing in a way, but he could not compare to his elvhen counterpart dancing on the right. Tanned skin ran the length of a gently toned body, not a pale line in sight. Mythal’s delicate _vallaslin_ was striking in contrast to the obvious strength in that form, as was the elegant makeup compared to the short-shorn, jet-black hair. Solas had barely realized he’d stopped dancing while he watched this dichotomous creature sway her – his? – no, _her_ , definitely _her_ – hips to the music. 

Clearing his throat, he tore his eyes away from the dancer and found the beat again, trying to breathe evenly and let his control slip away. Of course, he should have known that trying to be in control of where his eyes wandered would entirely defeat the purpose of letting his mind wander freely. Feeling a modicum of irritation sneaking into his usually mindless indulgence, he gave in and sought out the beautiful dancer’s form once more. 

Unlike her partner to the left, who relied on his physique and pretty face to do the work for him, she was a skilled and athletic performer. Using the platform and its pole, she wrapped herself into shapes and pulled out lines that portrayed the music lyrically, relying on natural eroticism rather than forced sexuality. He could see the story of each song in how she played her part, be it of the eager escort looking for a payday or the scorned, achingly violent lover. And she made him want things with those movements. 

_She is…_ thoroughly _intoxicating_ , he decided, feeling his pulse quicken as she glided down the pole into a hand-stand, giving everyone a delightful view of her barely-covered rear, _Perhaps_ too _thoroughly…_

Watching in awe, he had to wonder how her clothing was staying in place as she moved that way. She was literally bending herself in half as she pulled off some of her moves, a feat not easy on the body, let alone skin-tight pleather. He wondered what would happen if she did have a wardrobe malfunction, if she’d run off stage and cower after the videos of the incident caught on phones were no doubt posted all over the internet in minutes. The confidence in her smile told him she’d probably keep on dancing, videos be damned, and he found himself smiling in return at the thought. 

Quickly as it came, though, he banished the offending flash of teeth away, not wanting the attention it would garner. 

His dancer – he’d already begun thinking of her as such – was now attempting a daring feat of ability and strength. Bracing herself on the pole with not but her foot and her thigh on the platform, she leaned backward over the crowd and reached down to touch fingertips with the few patrons she could reach. Where he’d been stilled by her sheer power before, he suddenly felt compelled to rush forward and touch her, feel the sweat-slicked callouses of her palm, trace the slender branches of _vallaslin_ up her forearm. 

_No…She wouldn’t want some old man to sidle up and start…fondling her…,_ He cursed internally, bidding himself to stay put. It wouldn’t do to be thrown out for harassing an employee and risk never seeing her again. 

_What am I saying…? That I’ll come back regularly to see some_ dancer _? Watch her like a predator? The old wolf wishing to jump high enough to catch the lovely crow?_ He worked through the idea in his head, not realizing his face had turned into a groused scowl and he’d stopped dancing entirely, _No, that wouldn’t do at all…_

This night was doing nothing to reduce his stress and everything to increase it, his internal tension over this dancer catching him entirely off guard, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave, not yet. Not when her set had only _just_ begun. So, catching the rhythm again, he moved to the music, inching closer to her position on stage subconsciously. 

A full hour had passed before he’d noticed and he found himself standing quite literally within arm’s reach of her. A tribal beat was thrumming through the crowd, subtly energizing the room and building up to something, he could feel it. 

_“You said it’s okay….”_ The lyrics began, the dancer above mouthing them along, her partner across the same doing the same, but Solas felt like she was singing the words straight to him. 

_That is ridiculous, of course she’s not – What is she doing…?_ His thoughts flew wildly as he noticed the dancer staring directly at him, eyes playful as she continued to lip-sync the lyrics. He looked around him quickly, sure that there was some younger, more handsome man – or woman, he didn’t judge – standing behind him. Of course, there were several who could have been her target, but when he looked back her way, she was pointing directly at him, a knowing smirk on her lips. 

He swallowed thickly and shook his head with a grin he hoped would cover his embarrassment. Back in his heyday, he would have welcomed such attention, fed off of it and allowed it to give him a bit of pep in his step. But now, older, wiser, and balder, he couldn’t see himself hopping on stage with a dancer, even one as enchanting as this woman. 

The song came to a crescendo, bass dropping and cheers going out as the male dancer pulled up a member of the crowd. The waif-like elf, almost indiscernibly female if you didn’t catch the bulge in his obscenely tight pants, was nearly a ghost next to the tanned, mustachioed man, all pale blonde locks and translucent skin, but his personality was anything _but_ ghostly. In fact, he was giving the dancer a run for his money, the crowd clearly loving his performance. 

On the stage above, the female dancer gave an audible chuckle and slid to the floor of her pole, legs mingling with the crowd as she bade Solas ‘come hither’ with two fingers. This time, he blushed a bit and gave her a discouraging look, but she wasn’t having it. In a bold move, she lay herself flat on her stomach and reached out, caressing one side of his face while she leaned in and spoke under the music, “C’mon, flat-ear…you’re not scared of the _vallaslin_ , are you?” 

He chuckled at the comment, finding her assumption equal parts humorous and typical for a Dalish woman. Giving her a taste of her own medicine, he leaned into her ear, lips brushing the sensitive lobe as he spoke, “...You misunderstand, _da’len._ I simply prefer to watch…” 

Pulling back, her cheeks a bit more flushed than they had been a moment before, she gave him a long calculating look as her fingers traced down the back of his neck. She must have come to some decision because a moment later she was up on her feet and picking another patron from the floor, this one a lovely olive-skinned woman, too rich and too drunk for a place like this. Solas smirked and began to make his way off the floor as the dancer and her new best friend swayed to the music on stage. 

It took him twenty minutes to settle his tab, find his coat, and actually make it out the door, but he didn’t mind it as much as usual. He felt strangely electric, like he was three drinks in and popping uppers in his twenties all over again. It was obvious that woman had an effect on him, though he tried to think of it as a general attraction that he’d been lacking in recent years. He hadn’t been with anyone in some time and perhaps it had turned his sly skills of seduction into puppy-love flirting all over again. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, however, when a gentle tap came to his shoulder, causing him to turn around quickly. 

Standing in an oversized pea-coat, jeans, and combat boots was the dancer he couldn’t seem to get out of his head, her expression screaming mischief if he’d ever seen it. “You made me look bad, _hahren_.” 

“Yes. And you used a racial slur to describe me.” He retorted, his tone light despite the weight of the words. Her face faltered at that, clearly not ready for him to break out the race card like that. _She had done it first,_ He thought, _If we’re counting anyways._

“...Right. I guess I deserved that, then,” She said after a moment, not seeming put off that he’d just pointed out the flaw in her earlier actions. In fact, she was _smiling_ at him. Goodnaturedly and everything. His eye twitched at how nice she was being. It was unnerving. 

“Well…I was going to ask you to grab a drink with me, but I guess that’s out now,” She stated with a shrug, looking down at her boots and chuckling to herself. 

“…Just because one does not possess _vallaslin_ or is born outside of a clan does not make them any less _elvehn_ than you…Nor does it make them any less inclined to drink with you.” 

The woman looked up and gave him a strange look, half smiling, half frowning with her eyes and knit-together brows. “Do you always talk about yourself in the third person?” 

“…No.” He might have shuffled awkwardly a bit at that. 

“Good,” She said with a laugh, sticking out her hand in greeting, “I’m I’ain, by the way. And though I do get a kick out of calling you _hahren_ , I’m guessing you don’t. So what _should_ I call you?” 

“…Solas. You may call me Solas.” He took her offered hand and shook it twice, firm, but not forceful, while they started to walk away from the club. 

“Solas…” She tested it out and he liked the way it rolled off her tongue, “Makes you sound like a lone wolf or something. All wise and mysterious-like. I can deal with that, I suppose.” 

It was his turn to give her a strange look. “And what if you ‘couldn’t deal’?” 

“Well, then I’d just keep calling you _hahren_ and you’d have to deal with it. Even during sex.” 

He could hardly believe what she’d just said and the heat in his blood, which had cooled when he’d left the club, started to rise once more. “…You presume too much about my intentions.” 

She turned and stopped walking two steps in front of him, his own footsteps halting just before they crashed together, and leaned into his personal space. “Do I?” 

He could only swallow in response, his expression straining to stay neutral. She grinned and started walking backwards away from him. “Didn’t think so.” 

Though he didn’t even know her, he could see that this I’ain was going to be a force in his foreseeable future. For better or for worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> I realized as I was posting this that the font is misleading and I'ain's name is likely horribly mispronounced as a result, which, if you're a fan of imagining how things would sound in Solas' silky-smooth-your-underwear-are-now-useless-and-soaked voice, could be a problem. So the pronunciation is "EE-AY-NN". Hard "e" sound, hard "a" sound, elongated "n" sound. I might love language too much. Sue me.


End file.
